


The Years Belie (We Lived a Lie)

by IneffableDoll



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Asexual Aziraphale (Good Omens), Asexual Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Asexual Crowley (Good Omens), Asexuality, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Character Study, Comfort, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley is Whipped (Good Omens), Dorks in Love, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Gratuitous comfort, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Moving In Together, POV Crowley (Good Omens), Post-Canon, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), Tooth-Rotting Fluff, a novel concept i know, characters actually communicating with each other, rating is for language, they just love each other a lot and I'm soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:21:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23662246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IneffableDoll/pseuds/IneffableDoll
Summary: In which Aziraphale and Crowley have eight very important conversations about past hurts, misunderstandings, and scars - and come to terms with them. Healing is never simple, but it’s easier to do with someone you love (Real soft y’all. Disgustingly soft.)
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 38
Kudos: 113
Collections: Aspec-friendly Good Omens





	The Years Belie (We Lived a Lie)

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve read hundreds of confession fics for these dorks by now (and written a number myself), and I’ve loved all of them, but I’ve noticed a trend of ending them with a kiss and a “they had many talks and reconciled feelings over past hurts.” And I rather wanted to read those conversations. So, I wrote some of them.  
> There is some hurt to be found ahead, mostly pulled from the canon (key word: mostly), so little beyond what you don’t know. Each part varies in intensity and each ends hella soft. There is loads of comfort and fluff and CLOSURE because that’s what I live for, baby.  
> Title from Queen’s “Save Me.”  
> Trigger Warnings: panic attacks, self-image issues, allusion to PTSD.  
> This is my longest fan fic yet and I’m rather proud of it; I hope you enjoy!  
> (Jan, 2021 Edit: Fixed up some typos and a few bits that, in hindsight, could have been written better. Nothing major! Carry on!)

0. In which we ponder what comes next

Post-confession.

The world still existed, which was great, and Aziraphale and Crowley told each other about their Feelings after millennia of denial, which was just as good, and life was all-around, as they say, on the up and up. Everything was brilliant and perfect and wonderful, and there were no problems at all.

That what the rom coms led the world to believe, anyway. But nothing paused because the credits faded to black.

There were too many years of hurt and lies between the two for it to be so easy. There was _stuff_ on both ends that needed mending. Nightmares, questions, concerns. They’d both been hurt, they’d both hurt each other, they’d both carried their guilt and pain so deep inside it could almost be forgotten in the constant ache. Uprooting six thousand years of friendship was not as simple as it sounded, and it didn’t sound simple, at that. There needed to be _conversations._

Baring the heart was not for the faint of one; a demon wasn’t even supposed to _have_ one, really, and it wasn’t what an angel was meant for when they were crafted of Love. Something altogether too human and fragile, yet utterly necessary.

But they loved each other, if that word could really contain the expanse of their devotion, protectiveness, and affection. It ran deeper than the rivers of the underground, the magma currents below the ocean’s depths, the molten core that was the Earth’s infrastructure, on which was built wars and creativity and death and art and hate and love. They both knew that now. If only it could be that simple, to say three words and have all their wounds and scars evaporate.

It was not that simple.

But there were still ways of soothing scars.

  1. In which affection is difficult



After everything, they finally kissed for the very first time.

This was, of course, not a big deal. Nope, not a bit. Crowley had been hoping for it, imagining it, and yearning for it since humans came up with the idea, but still. Eh, whatever, just human touch, right? Nothing to go nuts over. Just the mashing of lips. Kinda gross, even, when considered objectively.

Still, it was all good – _fine, acceptable, tolerable,_ whatever. It was just that…it was _all he’d been dreaming of_ for…well, we hardly need to get into the details of how long, but long enough. And what the _fuck_ do you do when all your dreams come true at once?

In Crowley’s case, the answer was a veritable mental shutdown at every instant of physical contact.

In the days following the moment that became their new A.D., new C.E., new era of reality that would forever delineate their timeline of existence and uproot the Gregorian calendar in favor of something all their own, they were together constantly, and both as bright as the damn sun. Sometimes Aziraphale was literally so and Crowley half-heartedly reminded the angel not to get quite so holy around him since it sorta make his skin feel aflame in a _mostly_ unpleasant manner. But it was Aziraphale, so nothing about him was truly unpleasant. It was more like a minor sunburn that was worthwhile for the day spent at the beach.

Then he would reach out and take Crowley’s hand and his lovesick serpent brain shut off entirely.

Walks in the park, dining out, drives with the Bentley, just sitting in the backroom of the bookshop, even hanging out in the Mayfair flat (which was increasingly filled with books in the same way the bookshop garnered black jackets and succulents); all these innocuous doings that had occupied a lifetime suddenly became littered with small touches of hands, linked arms, kisses on cheeks and lips and foreheads, sitting a little closer each time as they gained confidence in this, this Thing that was happening. A Thing that had to be capitalized, like the Arrangement that was no more. This was a new arrangement of sorts, but it was hard to say exactly what it was within the limits of English – so, simply, a Thing.

Crowley loved it, even if it made him forget every language that he was fluent in, and probably a few he hadn’t taken the time to learn for good measure.

He could never remember feeling so content. Over the millennia, even memories with Aziraphale were tinted in caution, fear, restraint. His most cherished reminiscences could not be recalled without the shudder of knowing that even that was unsafe, dangerous, risky. Chancing everything for a little bit of nothing that he valued so much, it had been worthwhile.

This was not like that. Heaven and Hell were gone – _really, actually gone_ – and there was nothing to stop them now. The fear had died when they had each failed to do so in their opposite corporations, and any lingering concerns vanished when Feelings were put to language; contentment settled in its place like it had belonged there all along, as comfortable as a well-worn cushion that knew his shape. He had the sense that he had never been made for constant stress. Hmm, yes…this suited him much better.

A week passed by like this, in honeymoon-esque, utter bliss. Joy radiated from their beings, and everything was completely perfect.

To Crowley, at least.

Unbeknownst to the besotted demon, there was a Thing. Not _The_ Thing, mind you – but a different Thing, which came to light one evening over wine and following a show at the Globe. Aziraphale sat beside Crowley on the sofa, and a tortuous palm’s width remained between their thighs.

“Crowley, dearest…” Aziraphale suddenly said, and the demon felt a delirious pang in his traitorous corporation at the endearment.

He smiled back lazily over his third glass of alcohol. “Yes, angel?”

“Do you...like being touched?”

Crowley felt his face flame involuntarily – though of course it was involuntary, because why would anyone blush on purpose? That would be weird. And was also beside the point. The demon blinked a couple of times so the sirens in his head might take the opportunity to shut the fuck up before he replied, “W-Why do you ask?”

“It’s just that…” Aziraphale looked down at his hands and seemed to be summoning strength for words. “You never seem to reject it, but you don’t, er, reciprocate.”

“I don’t...what?”

Aziraphale looked up at him with those fond, concerned eyes. “I don’t want to force you into anything, Crowley. If it makes you uncomfortable or isn’t something you want, please say so, dear. Romantic love doesn’t have to be expressed physically, as I’m sure you know.”

Crowley’s breath hitched as it still did with the L-word, but his brain finally caught up with what Aziraphale was saying. “Oh. _Oh!_ No, no no no, that’s not- I mean. I-” he groaned and put down his glass to reach over and place his hand over Aziraphale’s, which still clutched his wineglass, slightly trembling. “I’m still processing. It all. All of it. Everything. I didn’t mean to make you think that I... don’t want this.”

Aziraphale was staring wide-eyed at the hand on his and he looked up at Crowley before breaking out into a big smile. “You did it.”

Crowley blinked. He was doing that far too often nowadays. “Uh.”

“You touched my hand!” Aziraphale was positively beaming again and a little holy light emanated from him. He noticed this time and drew it back with an effort.

“Um. Yes. Is that...okay?”

Aziraphale shifted his glass to the other hand and interlaced his fingers with Crowley’s with a happy sigh. “Yes. I just wanted to make sure this is something you wanted.” 

Crowley nodded vigorously. “It is. It is. Just...I need time to catch up, I think.”

Aziraphale smiled knowingly. After a beat, a flicker of sadness crossed his face. “May I ask you something, Crowley?”

He nodded, of course.

“How long has it been since someone touched you...kindly?”

Crowley tore his gaze away immediately. He didn’t want to answer that, but Aziraphale asked, so he would answer, and he was trying to get better with the whole _honest communication_ bit, anyway. “Demons don’t get touched kindly, ever,” he replied curtly, hoping that would get the point across. Judging by Aziraphale’s quick intake of breath, it did.

Crowley bit his lip, looked over at Aziraphale’s sympathetic expression, and leaned into the angel’s side, lulling his head gently on his shoulder. He heard rather than saw Aziraphale grinning and a wonderfully thick, heavy arm found itself wrapped about the demon’s bony shoulders. Crowley would be loath to call it cuddling and would, in fact, not call it that under the worst duress of Hell.

That’s what it was, regardless.

“Then I’ll have to make up for it, if you’re amenable, dear,” Aziraphale said, to which Crowley was entirely unable to conjure a response. The angel didn’t seem to be expecting a reply, anyway.

Conversation turned to mist, and the angel picked up a book by his elbow and began reading after a time. Crowley simply savored the contact. When he reached an arm around Aziraphale’s center, he heard a small intake of breath.

“This okay?”

Aziraphale nodded. “Guess it takes some getting used to on both accounts,” he admitted, an attractive dusting of pink over his expression.

A thought crossed Crowley’s mind. “…Heaven isn’t that touchy-feely either, I figure.”

“Yes, they consider it to be a human thing, not unlike food…” he grimaced. “Everything was cold and distant in Heaven. I’m not sure I ever even gave Gabriel a handshake.” A contemplative pause. “Not that I wanted to, mind you.”

Crowley felt a surge of anger at the prat’s name – it didn’t deserve to be graced by the angel’s mouth – but forced himself to stay on-topic (the topic being that they were both, apparently, totally touch-starved). “We’ve always liked human things. Wine, for one. One of my favorites.”

Aziraphale nodded again before placing a feathery kiss to Crowley’s head.

“Ngk.”

Aziraphale smirked. “I think touch might be my new favorite, personally.”

Crowley willed away the dorky grin that threatened his face and barely succeeded (didn’t at all, that is). “It’s alright. Can’t beat getting sloshed, can it?”

“Is that a challenge?”

“Bastard.”

The angel’s eyes twinkled. “How very rude.”

Crowley chuckled. Yes…this was what contentment was. Crowley may have sauntered vaguely downwards, but he’d gotten here neither sauntering nor in vagueness; he’d been sprinting for so long toward one, specific goal, running with aching legs and gasping for breath to soothe scorching lungs and bursting muscles. Ages of hoping, trying, failing. Now he had it, and maybe there should’ve been a sense of displacement, confusion – unease at knowing he didn’t have to run anymore.

He didn’t.

It would’ve been heavenly if Heaven was anything but frosty, sharp, and harsh. This was much, much better.

  1. In which you go too fast for me



“Slow down, Crowley, please!” Aziraphale cried.

Crowley only grinned wider. “I won’t hit anyone, I promise! You doubt my driving skills?”

The angel grasped at his seat like his life depended on it – it didn’t, Crowley was sure of that much – and looked straight ahead, wide-eyed. “Dear, you know as well as I that if we get discorporated-”

“We won’t, angel,” Crowley replied easily. His foot gently lifted off the accelerator a bit, anyway, cutting their speed the tiniest nudge as they continued through London at a swift pace. The empty picnic basket in the backseat had fallen onto the ground ages ago.

Aziraphale seemed to only further tense. “Please, you know you go too fast for me, Crowley!”

Crowley, without meaning to exactly, slammed his foot on the brake all at once, nearly causing a major accident if not for a hasty snap of the fingers. They hadn’t been near Soho just yet, but they came to a sudden stop in front of the bookshop.

Crowley’s heart was pounding wildly, jaw and hands clenched as his stomach churned. Memories of a night he tried his best to forget dipped into his brain like a scalpel; a collection of blurry, neon-tinted images of a tartan thermos and shaking hands. He didn’t realize he was hyperventilating until a soft hand laid itself on his shoulder and he jumped so violently his head slammed into the roof.

“Fuck!” he exclaimed, rubbing the sore spot without really feeling it.

“Dear, are you alright?” Aziraphale asked with a voice of extreme concern. Crowley couldn’t look at him.

It was a long time ago. Ages ago. Things were different now, everything was different. He was fine, it didn’t matter anymore. Old news, really – they were fine now.

He took a deep breath and faced his angel, forcing a smile. “Nothing. My bad, angel. Good picnic, yeah?” He shrugged the hand from his shoulder and stepped out of the car, rushing around to open the door for Aziraphale. Fake grin still plastered as Aziraphale extricated himself from the automobile, he continued, “Think I’ll head back to the flat. Plants are getting complacent lately, you know? Need to keep ‘em on their toes. Er. Roots. Whatever. See ya, angel.”

He barreled back around the Bentley and tossed himself into the driver’s seat, ignoring Aziraphale’s stammered interruptions and exclamations that didn’t form distinct words in Crowley’s ears. He floored it back onto the street, leaving Aziraphale on the sidewalk with an expression he couldn’t bear to see.

He’d just go home – well, to his flat, anyway – and chill out. Take a nap for a day or two. Avoid feelings, avoid Aziraphale until he got a hold of himself, then they’d be fine, and it would be fine. Not the angel’s problem that he couldn’t get a grip on pains from decades ago.

He was fine.

He woke up, not to his alarm, but to the disarmingly comforting smell of cocoa and old books. He stirred, eyes still closed, and yawned, wondering when he’d fallen asleep on the sofa in the bookshop.

He shot up suddenly in a tangle of ebony sheets when he remembered what had happened. The bedroom door was open a crack, the scents drifting from elsewhere in the flat. His hyper-sensitive snake tongue picked up on Aziraphale’s cologne and that slight lingering of melted demon that had never completely gone away.

Crowley got up, snapped his black silk pajamas into his usual attire, and sauntered into the sitting room. Aziraphale was relaxed on the leather sofa – that is, as relaxed as one can be on something as abysmal as a leather sofa, which was one of Crowley’s prouder inventions – reading what appeared to be one of nearly a dozen books stacked beside him, a cup of half-drunk cocoa on an end table.

“Ah, Crowley! You’re awake!” he exclaimed upon sight. He looked at the books beside him sheepishly. “I wasn’t sure how long you’d be, so I, uh…”

Crowley chuckled despite himself, despite the situation, despite the knot at the base of his throat. “Just going to hang out in my cold, dreary flat for months on end, are we, angel?”

Aziraphale’s eyes widened. “Oh, goodness, you weren’t going to sleep for months, were you?”

Crowley shook his head quickly, grin sliding from his face. “Nah, just a couple days. Speaking of, how long was I?”

“It’s only the next day. Sorry for waking you.”

He shrugged. “Don’t mind being woken by you. I’mma get a proper drink for early mornings. With plenty of caffeine.”

He made to move to the kitchen, but as he passed the sofa, Aziraphale suddenly burst, “I’m so sorry, Crowley!”

Crowley halted mid-step. “What for?”

“For yesterday, what I said!” Aziraphale continued frantically, standing to face Crowley properly and wringing his hands. “I wasn’t thinking at all, and then it just blurted out! And it’s not what I meant to say, I didn’t mean to call back to - oh, I’m so _desperately_ sorry.”

Crowley took this all in with visible apathy, a countenance he’d trained himself to do well over the millennia. “Not a problem, angel. Doesn’t matter.” He shrugged as though to dismiss the issue. “What d’you say to eating out somewhere this evening? Since I’m awake, may as well make a day of it.”

Aziraphale looked at him with dangerous levels of loving concern. “Crowley. I think we need to talk about this.”

“No. No, we actually really don’t.”

“But you’re...Crowley, I want to talk to you and understand you. We need to communicate about this.”

Something switched in Crowley’s brain and all the hurt of that day flooded in, unbidden and pricking at his stupid human tear ducts. “S’ stupid, angel, okay? Just being stupid. Don’t need to talk about it,” he mumbled sullenly.

“It’s not at all stupid if it’s hurting you, Crowley, but I won’t force you,” the angel replied gently. “When you’re ready. I’m here for you.”

For some reason, that’s what did it.

“You are, _now_!” Crowley practically shouted with a wild gesture. “Sure as fuck weren’t then! You want to understand me and know me, angel? You want to know what I did after you left? I went home - came to my flat, buried into my bed and fucking sobbed for what could have been ages. Drank like the shitty fucking Inquisition had come ‘round again for another set of accolades.” He was pacing frantically now, not even looking in Aziraphale’s direction as his voice grew louder and angrier with each sentence. “I just…I felt so broken,” he whispered, voice cracking as his body stilled and he stared at the floor. “You gave me a reason to hope when you gave me that thermos. I wanted to hope, to believe. Then you said that, and…fuck. Shit. It wasn’t your fault. I just hated that you pushed me away. That you _had_ to.”

His voice was barely audible with those final words, and he stood there, swaying like a fresh sprout from the soil. His vision become blurry, throat tight. He tried to breathe deeply, but they came in short and raspy. He shouldn’t need breath. His head hurt. Where had his contentment gone? This was all _wrong_ , all of it.

He had no idea how much time passed before Aziraphale pulled him into a hug.

Crowley let him, feeling stricken and discombobulated. He’d just shouted at his beloved for age-old aches for a solid couple of minutes, berating him and blaming him for things beyond his control, and Aziraphale was _hugging him._

“I’m sorry, Crowley,” he muttered against the demon’s neck, and Crowley realized the angel was crying perhaps even more than he was. But he didn’t sound hurt or offended. He just sounded deeply, unbelievably remorseful, regret coursing through his every cell, vibrating with it. “I don’t think my words could ever, ever be enough, but they’re what I have. I’m sorry. I never, ever meant to hurt you when I said that.”

Crowley was barely conscious of drawing his previously limp arms around Aziraphale tightly as his sobs finally broke him and he buried his face in Aziraphale’s neck in turn.

“Pushing you away that night was one of the hardest things I ever did, my dearest one,” Aziraphale said softly, thickly, his breath in steady puffs against the shell of Crowley’s ear. “But it was too dangerous. I wasn’t rejecting you, Crowley. Never rejecting you. I wanted to protect you from what Hell would do if they’d found out, back then. And, admittedly, protect myself, too. I was a coward…”

Crowley tightened his grasp. “Angel…” he rasped.

“I see now that I did so in the worst way possible,” he confessed. “I’m so, so sorry, Crowley. Everything kept us apart for so long. I’m sorry I…I hurt you so terribly. Every single time I did, I’m sorry for all of it.”

Several silent minutes went by in which Crowley drew husky, heavy breaths, his tears eventually subsiding, but his body never moved from Aziraphale’s embrace as though it was something too fragile to disturb. After an eternity of stewing in his conflicting feelings, he pulled away to face Aziraphale.

They were both a mess. Hair disheveled and sticking in awkward directions, eyes rimmed with red and noses glowing scarlet. Crying wasn’t a good look for either of them, and still, Crowley’s heart jumped when he saw Aziraphale’s crimson, puffed face.

Despite the suffocating, tense air, his lips twinged into the smallest of smiles, and the tension snapped in an instant.

“I’m sorry, angel,” Crowley whispered, pressing his forehead into the other’s, and closing his eyes. “I always knew you didn’t mean to hurt me or anything. It just...hurt, anyway. You saved our arses a thousand times over by pushing me away. I know that, I do.”

Aziraphale gave a tiny nod, enough to not break their new point of contact. “That doesn’t mean it was right of me to say.”

“Shut up.” Before Aziraphale could interrupt, as he was prone to do when explicitly told not to, he continued, “I…honestly, I think I just needed to say it is all. Of course, I forgive you. I forgave you a long time ago.” He smirked suddenly. “Not that the forgiveness of a demon means anything to an angel.”

“The forgiveness of a demon – _this_ demon – means more to me than that of the Almighty,” Aziraphale replied seriously, utterly mirthless. And Crowley couldn’t reply to something as dumb as that at all, so he drew Aziraphale in to kiss that stupid, idiot mouth of his.

They really were going to be okay. Crowley believed that, and held his angel close.

  1. In which we maybe lose the gut, yeah?



Aziraphale and Crowley sat in St. James’ Park, holding hands and trying to pretend they weren’t completely obsessed with the intoxication of open, fearless affection.

 _In the middle of the day!_ Crowley’s brain shouted helpfully. _In the middle of London! Holding hands! Hands! Holding! With angel!_

He reminded his brain to kindly shut the fuck up. It didn’t work.

He glanced over to Aziraphale, who reverberated the very air about him with peace and serenity. His expression was almost drunk on the feeling, his smile like contagious inebriation and making every random pedestrian who passed suddenly alight with an inexplicable joy. Spouses returned home to find that their partners were home early from work and made them dinner; children found coins on the sidewalk with which to buy their favorite ice cream from the vendor down the corner; the heartbroken artists felt suddenly ablaze with creative inspiration; and, above all, they felt the park humming in a reciprocated love so vast even humans and ducks – _ducks!_ – could sense it.

Aziraphale didn’t seem to notice the accidental miracles and Crowley considered teasing him for it but couldn’t bring himself to shatter his friend’s relaxation. Maybe later.

“You know,” Aziraphale suddenly said, tone musing, “Being you wasn’t terribly unpleasant.”

Crowley raised his eyebrows. “Is that so?”

Aziraphale nodded lazily. “Your corporation is so different from mine, but it was fascinating to swap and experience all the senses the way you do.” He made a face. “And the hips.”

Crowley burst out laughing as he remembered when they’d first switched that night after the bus ride from Tadfield. They’d spent hours practicing each other. It should’ve been a serious affair, but, weary with the tension, it was nothing short of a mockery of progression as they took turns making stupid jokes and barely managing to keep their new bodies upright.

“You strutted around like a peacock, Aziraphale,” he said, eyes dancing with mirth. “I don’t walk like that at all, and you know it.”

“Do I, though?” Aziraphale replied, side-eyeing Crowley with what was most definitely a smirk – bastard. “All I remember is you finding it utterly hilarious to use my mouth to exclaim various expletives!”

Crowley grinned mischievously. “And it fuckin’ _was_.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes, far too fond for any amount of irritation to show through. “You’re incorrigible, you silly serpent.”

“Clearly, I got the better deal,” Crowley replied easily. “Comfiest corporation in the world. Though I prefer it on you, anyway.” He bit his tongue before he said anything else as sappy.

He expected Aziraphale would look at him all gentle and gooey as he was inclined to do anytime Crowley said something gross, but instead, he looked over nervously before saying cautiously, “You do?”

Crowley’s eyebrows joined his hairline. “’Course I do.”

Aziraphale nodded, but still seemed strangely on edge.

“You okay, angel?”

Aziraphale nodded sharply. “Nothing to worry about, dearest.”

The angel was clearly concerned about something and there was absolutely no way the demon was standing for that. Crowley leveled him with a piercing gaze. “Listen. Um.” Ugh, words. “All those things you said to me, before, when we talked? I feel the same way, okay? You can talk to me if you need to. If you want.”

Aziraphale seemed to consider this a moment, looking out absently at the duck pond and squeezing Crowley’s hand. “It’s just…something Gabriel said to me, before.”

“ _The Archangel fucking Gabriel_?” Crowley replied in a mocking tone of the angel in question. “What did the git say? I’ll kill him.”

A smile flickered across Aziraphale’s face at Crowley’s immediately and clear outrage, but it disappeared as quickly as it came. “Before Armageddon, he said to me that, well…I’ve always been fond of this corporation. It fits me well and it’s comfortable, though I know it’s not exactly…standard. But…do _you_ think I should, ah, ‘lose the gut’?” he placed a hand over his stomach sheepishly, eyes imploring honesty.

Affection, words, comfort – none of this came easily to Crowley. He was still getting used to being able to show any kindness at all, now that Hell wasn’t looking, and he didn’t need to hide it. It wasn’t exactly in his nature to be reassuring, to soothe with words like Aziraphale could. He could make gestures with actions and even, lately, touches. Between little practice and practical limitations, it wasn’t his thing, utilizing language to extend solace.

Crowley didn’t even hesitate.

He flung his sunglasses somewhere – not sure where, maybe in the pond? Didn’t matter right then – and pulled both his hands up to grab Aziraphale’s face and look at him sharply. His voice came out like a low growl, a thundercloud of indignation and overflowing confidence. “Angel,” he said slowly, enunciating those two wonderful syllables carefully, “you are literally the most perfect thing I’ve ever fucking seen.”

Aziraphale let out a watery laugh. “You don’t mean tha-“

“Shut up.” Crowley didn’t blink. “Listen to me. You are exactly what you should be. Not only is Gabriel a wanker who I’d gladly push off a cliff granted I could stab him first – come now, you know he deserves it – but your body is you, okay? Your corporation is all round edges and kindness and it’s beautiful and wonderful and in no way, _ever,_ something to be ashamed of. You’re soft and I love that about you. I’ve _always_ loved that about you.”

Aziraphale was staring openly, a single tear spilling over in a silent track down a plump cheek. Crowley was never this verbally affectionate even at the rarest of times, so for such unguarded words to spill out like this was as shocking for Crowley as it was for Aziraphale. Crowley knew he was blushing furiously but didn’t have the energy to care. All that mattered was that Aziraphale understood.

“You really believe all that, don’t you?” Aziraphale whispered, astonished.

Crowley brushed his thumb under Aziraphale’s eye to catch the wayward tear. “Yup. Do you? ‘Cause I’m right, you know. I’m always right, but especially about this.”

Aziraphale chuckled softly. “You are most certainly _not_ always right, my dearest. But…I suppose I’ll trust your judgement.”

Crowley broke into a smile and relaxed. “Good. My judgement is paramount, you know. Trust me.”

Aziraphale, ever the sap, answered heartily, “Unequivocally.”

Crowley withdrew his hands to stand up quickly, hiding the stupid ass grin that broke across his face. Nonetheless, he extended a hand to the angel awkwardly when he spoke. “Head back to the bookshop, then?”

Aziraphale stood, accepting the offer, not even allowing more than a few seconds of broken contact. “Anywhere, with you.”

  1. In which flames and books don’t mix



For the first time, Crowley initiated a conversation about Feelings, entirely willing and unprompted. It took him three hours of hesitation to finally do so, but he got there. Eventually.

“Angel. Can I, uh, ask you something?”

Aziraphale looked up from his book. Crowley had been lounging on the sofa, twiddling with his phone, not actually doing anything as he considered how to bring this up. He ultimately came up with nothing and, after an inappropriate amount of fretting, decided to simply say it and hope for the best.

“Of course, Crowley.” Aziraphale set aside his book and stupid little reading glasses that he didn’t actually need. Folding his hands delicately in his lap, he gave Crowley his undivided attention. He had the air of someone who had been waiting for this discussion to start for at least three hours because certain demons lack subtly in their fretting.

“It’s…it’s kind of _silly_ ,” Crowley admitted, still looking at his phone screen even though it wasn’t on. “But you said we could talk, and all that, if ever I needed to. I just wanted to ask you…and I don’t…” He sat up and took a deep, steadying breath for courage.

Aziraphale moved from his armchair to the sofa, taking up Crowley’s hand as they were predisposed to doing when within any proximity to the other. “It’s alright, darling,” he said soothingly. “You can ask me for anything.”

“Promise you won’t get mad, or whatever?” he mumbled without eye contact.

“I promise.”

“Can we get rid of the fireplace?”

Aziraphale clearly had not expected this. They both knew he never used the fireplace but in the dead of winter (for the mood, less than the heat), and that was awhile off – and Crowley had typically liked to curl up in front of it as a snake in prior years. Aziraphale blinked a few times, confused, but answered steadily anyway. “Um. Of course, if that’s what you want. Why-“

“And the candles?” Crowley continued anxiously. “And – and the gas range in the kitchen? And maybe get some fire extinguishers? And get an electrician to check the wiring in your lights and outlets to make sure they’re all up to code and stuff?”

Aziraphale looked utterly bewildered, but he nodded anyway. “Yes, sure. We can do that. May I ask why this is so important, though?”

Crowley looked at him incredulously, half because the angel had to ask, and half because, well, now he had to explain. “Don’t…want the bookshop to catch on fire.” He swallowed and glanced away. “Again.”

“Oh…” Aziraphale breathed out in understanding. Crowley flinched, waiting for him to tease him for it. What a silly thing, for a _demon_ to be afraid of _fire._ He was forged out of lava, borne of Hellfire and crafted of ashes, a ubiquitous taste of sulfur on his skin. He was one with flames, eternally burning with them, the scorch of his wings ever-present.

Instead, he heard three snaps in quick succession and looked up.

The fireplace had evaporated. The unlit, half-melted candles Aziraphale had gathered on his desk and around the bookshop were nowhere to be seen, long-uncleaned yellow wax pools suddenly gone from tabletops and counters. Without searching, Crowley knew a number of fire extinguishers had likely appeared throughout the shop.

Crowley looked at Aziraphale with shock. The angel smiled softly. “An electrician will come by tomorrow afternoon. Now, are there ways of heating a kettle without a range?”

Crowley’d body flooded with fondness and relief. He’d never truly believed Aziraphale would tease him for it, really; the angel had proven that he respected Crowley, and that included his fears and insecurities and traumas. Still, there was such a difference between knowing and _knowing_ he was safe. To be _emotionally_ safe, knowing he’d be taken care of – what a foreign thing, for a demon. He was likely the only denizen of Hell to ever experience it, and in this moment, he was nearly barreled over by the wave of positive emotions that threatened to bust his corporation into bits.

Crowley reached up and snapped twice. Aziraphale eyed the flatscreen TV that had appeared where the fireplace once had been with suspicion. “Got you an electric kettle, since the only thing you used the range for was water,” Crowley explained with a smug grin. “And the TV is for watching crappy movies and maybe even some good ones. Welcome to the twenty-first century, angel.”

Aziraphale pouted. “I was just fine in the nineteenth century, as you well know.”

Crowley rolled his eyes dramatically. “But I’m in the twenty-first, angel, and whatever would you do without me?”

Aziraphale gave a put-on sigh. “Suppose that’s a good enough reason to catch up.”

Crowley dragged a hand over his face in faux annoyance. “Shut your trap, angel. You’re killing me, here.”

Aziraphale situated himself to lean into Crowley’s shoulder. “You’re not going to make me watch American television, are you? I don’t think I could stand the horrendous mid-Atlantic accents.”

Crowley laughed. “I said twenty-first, not twentieth, angel. And no, nothing American if I can help it. Mmm, except _Jurassic Park._ But only the first one.” He just thought the dinosaurs were nifty. Funny what humans came up with just because of some old bones.

Aziraphale chuckled before softening into a sickeningly fond expression. “Dearest, thank you for sharing this with me. It means a great deal to be trusted by you.”

“Bless it all, angel,” Crowley replied, theatrically rolling his eyes yet again, even though Aziraphale couldn’t see his face. He felt so safe it was disgusting. “I am going to fucking _drown_ in the sap. Please stop.”

“Never. I know you like it.”

_“Not the point.”_

They slipped into their usual banter unaffectedly, and Crowley could hardly understand how he got so lucky.

  1. In which we use guilt as a weapon of beliefs



Aziraphale was a little off lately, and Crowley couldn’t figure out why.

It’d been two months now since everything, and, all things considered, they were handling it pretty well. There were a lot of changes, both in their relationship and life in general as the Earth continued to spin. Heaven and Hell both left them alone entirely and they were slowly becoming accustomed to the fact that they very well may actually be free from them.

It was then that Crowley noticed it.

It seemed to be that every time Aziraphale was bursting with joy – his joy in Crowley, in humans, in food, in all the little things that he’d always been so fond of – he did his best to stuff it down and smother it up. He’d light up like a child at Christmas, and a moment later it would evaporate, and he’d merely look about fondly, but strangely detached.

The worst part was that it wasn’t actually new. In fact, it was old. As old as time, one might venture to say. This was the Aziraphale Crowley had known all of his Earthly existence. An Aziraphale that Loved vulnerably and tried not to show it, tried to hide it for the dread of who may see and the wrath it may incur.

It’d been so different in the past eleven years or so. With Armageddon on the horizon, things changed so much, and Aziraphale was determined to soak up everything he loved in the world unabashedly. Crowley happily helped him indulge, whether it was new experiences or old foods or favorite haunts. Aziraphale burst with love like he never had before, and it seemed to fuel him in his determination to do all he could to save this wonderful world with such amazing things in it.

This had continued after Armageddon was thwarted, and Crowley hadn’t even thought to take note of it. It’d quickly become the usual, for Aziraphale to simply savor and enjoy in those eleven years, replacing a millennia-old doctrine.

Crowley didn’t understand why it was _back._

Crowley didn’t say anything – not right away, anyway. He wasn’t sure if he should mention it. Maybe it was just that Aziraphale was trying to rein in that holy light that surfaced when he expressed his Love for the Earth. Maybe he was just a little tired, or not up for it. Everyone had periods like that, when they were just a little down without any particular reason. Crowley figured he’d bounce back.

But when a week turned into two and three, he became determined to say something. He hated seeing his angel like this, especially since he didn’t understand _why._

They were in the bookshop on a late evening, nearly midnight. They had been drinking tea (well, _mostly_ tea, anyway) on the sofa, talking all evening about something or other – Crowley vaguely recalled later that there’d been a rant in there about the limits of modern cars – and that was when he decided to say something.

“Angel?” Crowley said tentatively, breaking a small silence that had lulled them for the past couple minutes.

Aziraphale blinked as though pulled from a trance before focusing his gaze on Crowley. He seemed to immediately notice Crowley’s anxiousness, despite him trying not to let it show, for he sat up rather quickly. “Yes, dear? Is everything alright?”

“Yeah,” Crowley replied automatically. “Er, no. Maybe? I’m not sure. Just wanted to ask a question.”

“Go ahead, then.”

Crowley hesitated again. He didn’t want to make Aziraphale feel awkward about this, but it did need to be addressed and he didn’t think Aziraphale would bring it up, being as he didn’t even seem to be doing this consciously. He steeled himself and spoke as gently as he knew how; his tone reminded him of when he’d told Aziraphale that the bookshop was burned down, that night of the bus ride. “I noticed the past few weeks that you seem a little…down? Or maybe like you’re forcing yourself to, I dunno, reign it in whenever you’re happy. Are you…okay?”

Aziraphale became tense as Crowley spoke, causing the demon’s words to wobble a bit at the end there. When he made no endeavor to reply, Crowley added nervously, “We don’t have to talk about this.”

That seemed to spur something on in Aziraphale, and he sighed. “It’s nothing important. I’m just a little out of sorts. It’s all still so much to take in that I suppose I’m a little bit confused.”

That brought Crowley up short. “Confused? By…being happy?”

Aziraphale grimaced, as though putting it so bluntly made the truth feel sharper. Crowley was about to apologize when the angel clarified, “Less by being happy, exactly. More like I simply haven’t earned it, so it doesn’t feel right to…bask in it. I oughtn’t to be so over excitable.”

Crowley pulled himself to sit a little more properly and face Aziraphale, unblinking. “You…please tell me you don’t mean that, angel.”

“Whatever do you mean? I’m not lying, Crowley. I don’t lie.” He winced. “Anymore. Not to you.”

Crowley dismissed that referral with a wave of the hand. “Angel. No, Aziraphale. You can’t seriously think you haven’t, what, earned the _right_ to be happy? What does that even mean? You deserve it as much as anyone else! What in Heaven are you on about?”

Aziraphale shifted, avoiding Crowley’s disbelieving stare with a defensive expression. “Well…angels aren’t supposed to enjoy things so much that aren’t, well, angelic. Human things and Earthly things. Food and art and parks.” Before Crowley could indignantly interrupt, which he was poised to do, Aziraphale added, “And I know I’m not obliged to Heaven any longer, but I am still an angel, Crowley! It’s not right to be so _enraptured_ all the time.”

“But the past few years-“

“With Armageddon, I simply forgot to be as careful in that regard,” he explained. “I let myself get lax because…everything else was so tense.”

“Angel!” Crowley sounded scandalized. “You love human things! I get that angels aren’t supposed to, but you’ve _always_ loved them. You averted Armageddon for them, for H – for Somewhere’s sake.”

“And I don’t regret that!” Aziraphale responded, eyes dimmed with ache. “But it…it’s still wrong. As an angel of God, it was always very clear what was expected of me, and I’ve been quite a disappointment in that regard. I’m so pulled toward human things, and you’re right that I always have. It’s…my greatest failing, as an angel.”

Something hollow settled in Crowley’s stomach as his expression fell into an intense sorrow. “You feel guilty about being happy,” he surmised in a soft, horrified voice.

“G-Guilty?” Aziraphale wavered, looking stricken. A thousand thoughts flickered across his face. “You…you could say that.” He suddenly seemed so small, not a bit like the solider he was created to be.

Crowley breached the distance across the sofa to pull Aziraphale into a tight hug. He didn’t let go for multiple minutes, vaguely gratified when Aziraphale reached out to hug him back, eventually pulling away enough so they could face each other. He knew his thoughts were plain as daylight on his face but could make no effort to hide them. The anger, disgust, horror, sympathy.

Heaven made his angel think it was wrong to be happy. To enjoy things.

For _millennia_ , Aziraphale felt this way.

“Fuck that,” Crowley said quite suddenly, venomous. “Angel, liking human things is not a crime. Liking _things_ is not a crime. Being _happy_. You just…love all this stuff, and an angel is supposed to love, right? It’s not wrong. And even if it was, it still wouldn’t matter because you deserve your damn happiness no matter how you _perform._ That’s not the point.”

Aziraphale looked downcast, as though he barely registered most of the demon’s speech. “Then what is the point, Crowley?”

“Whatever you want it to be,” Crowley mused. “Have you ever felt ashamed of loving me, angel?”

Aziraphale’s eyes welled, but no tears leaked out. He gave a terse nod, slightly awkward with the proximity. “For millennia,” he admitted hoarsely. “I thought it was wrong to love something – some _one_ – so literally demonic. For ages and ages. Accepting that I loved you was so, so much harder than the act itself.” He tore his gaze away and closed his eyes, leaning slightly away from Crowley, who was still extremely close. “I’m so sorry.”

Crowley shook his head, even though Aziraphale wasn’t looking at him. “Not fishing for apologies, angel. Are you ashamed of loving me, now?”

“No!” Aziraphale responded immediately, eyes flying back open. “No, of course not! After everything that’s happened, I know that loving you could never be something negative. Loving you is an honor, Crowley.”

The demon felt himself flushing under the praise but did his best to set that aside. He needed to drive his point home. “So, you see, angel,” he murmured softly, choosing each word with care as he brushed a wayward curl behind Aziraphale’s ear, “if it’s okay to love a demon, then surely loving the humans and their inventions can’t even register on the radar of being bad. So, you shouldn’t feel guilty about being happy, because none of that is a bad thing.”

Aziraphale took such a sudden, intense intake of air that Crowley jumped slightly. Before he could react further, Aziraphale had pulled him into a kiss, melting the demon more successfully than holy water. “You,” the angel breathed out after the passionate kiss, “are a wonder.”

Crowley shook his head, still reeling slightly, before centering himself. “’S the truth, angel. You deserve to be happy, and you shouldn’t feel guilty about it just ‘cause some losers made you think you did. God loves humans too, you know.”

Aziraphale smiled at him, more genuine than he had in weeks. “I’m not sure if I really believe all of that,” he admitted gently, voice sad yet tinted with hope, “but you make me feel like I might be able to, one day.”

Crowley made a mental note, then, to remind Aziraphale how wonderful and deserving he was every day for the rest of eternity, and pulled Aziraphale in to kiss him again.

The change wasn’t instant, or even fast. It would take many, many years for Aziraphale to truly move past his guilt, even if it never left him entirely. That trauma ran too deep, but it did not have to define him. In the following months, Crowley learned how to tell when Aziraphale was struggling, and how to help him through it. The angel would falter and lapse into his age-old habits constantly, but the drive to get better, to be happier, was there.

All it took was an affirming smile from Crowley for him to glow again.

  1. In which the bandstand makes an appearance (but it doesn’t hurt as much anymore)



Honestly, the memories were a little hazy.

Look, it’d been a long week. _An extremely long week_. Misplaced the Antichrist, jumped by agents of Hell, one of whom he melted with holy water – an act in and of itself nearly two centuries in the making – followed by the worst three or four hours of his bloody existence that tasted of ash, then he drove his beautiful Bentley through a wall of fire. Then he found said Antichrist, faced Satan with a tire iron, and rode a bus back to Mayfair while holding hands with his millennia-long crush.

He did his best to forget about it (minus that last bit), which, as we all know, is an extremely healthy coping mechanism that has no negative side effects whatsoever and is super duper great for one’s mental health and stability (read: sarcasm). He was surprisingly good at Not Thinking About It. It was a skill he’d trained in his entire existence. So many things to not think about, after all. Well, fewer nowadays, but nonetheless.

It was bound to come up at one point. It happened in a gazebo.

It’d been Crowley’s idea, naturally, as six months into an openly infatuated relationship had made it clear that the demon was a closet romantic. Aziraphale had suspected as much for ages, but between surprise flowers, moonlight dances, and whispered poetry recitations over candlelit meals, the angel had found that the demon was less a romantic and more the embodiment of the concept in entirety. Probably invented it, something Crowley vehemently denied when confronted about.

One such romantic evening, when it was cold enough for Crowley to sling an arm around the angel’s shoulders “to warm you up, angel,” the demon led his friend/lover/partner/whatever along a comfortable stroll under _miraculously_ clear skies. The scant stars were only just beginning to peek out between the effervescent light pollution when they happened across a gazebo in the park, one that had definitely not been there before that day and was very conveniently along their path.

Crowley wordlessly took up Aziraphale’s hand and led him over to it, the angel smirking like he knew some sort of secret, but saying nothing.

“Fancy this, being here,” Crowley said absently when they reached the steps.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “What a coincidence,” he replied, deadpan.

“Yes. It is. We should take advantage of it, since it’s by the way.”

Aziraphale grinned in reply and Crowley continued to tug him up the three steps that led to the small, roofed space. It was girded in a white balcony of parallel bars, a breeze drifting through comfortably as the two settled on the small bench that wrapped around its interior edge.

Aziraphale looked at Crowley, eyes shining. “So, dearest, is there a reason you’ve miracled a gazebo in the middle of a park in London, or is it just to confuse the locals?”

Crowley shrugged noncommittally. “Rather demonic, that,” he said evasively, what with old habits and all that nonsense. “Bet it’s right in the way of something, too, like a…a commemorative bench or something. ‘Lil plaque for some rich dead guy, poor sod. It’ll have to go somewhere else, now.”

Aziraphale chuckled softly.

“But I suppose there is…potentially…something I could say. Ask. While we’re here, I mean,” he conceded.

Aziraphale beamed at him. “Go on, then, you absurd snake.”

“Willyoumoveinwithme?” It came out in one, rushed breath and he tensed.

Aziraphale’s eyebrows lifted. “What was that?”

“We don’t have to,” Crowley continued quickly, nerves rattling. “I just thought, I mean, we’re already at each other’s all the time. And my flat’s not really a place to live, you know. Just to sleep and such, and the bookshop is a little small for two people, even with the flat upstairs. You keep leaving things at mine and I’ve kinda been leaving stuff at yours, and yeah. And we could, you know, maybegetacottageorsomething.”

Aziraphale’s holy light was especially blinding in the waning evening light, but the angel seemed entirely unable or unwilling to do anything about it. “You want to move into together! Oh, Crowley, dearest!”

“Satan, don’t get all sentimental about it!” Crowley snapped half-heartedly as relief flooded his veins.

"Let’s do it!” Aziraphale exclaimed. He stood suddenly, clapping his hand together as he glowed at his demon. “I do love your idea of a cottage. We can go off to the country!”

Crowley didn’t dare try to stand; his legs were sturdy as noodles. Nonetheless, the ecstasy of the moment overwhelmed his prior nerves as he grinned. “You’re finally running away with me, angel? Took you long enough.”

Aziraphale froze, catching Crowley’s reference. His face fell and Crowley could already hear the apologies on his lips.

He remembered how he’d felt on the bandstand that day, the things that had been said. Much to his own surprise, he realized suddenly that it…didn’t hurt.

“Don’t,” Crowley said swiftly, standing to place his hands carefully on Aziraphale’s shoulders. “Don’t say what I know you’re gonna say and ruin the moment with apologies. I don’t want them and don’t need them.”

Aziraphale, ever characteristic to his brand, burst, nonetheless. “I said so many horrible things to you that day, my love! I’m so sorry for all of it. I didn’t mean a word, not a one, but I was so selfish and cruel! I wanted so badly to go with you, but I-“

Crowley leaned in and kissed Aziraphale’s forehead, cutting him off rather abruptly. “If you’d done so,” he murmured, “the Earth might not be here. You saved all of this by, what, being selfish? Only you could make selfishness a good thing, if that even counts.”

“But Crowley…”

Crowley shook his head and tsked. “I don’t want you to apologize to me for doing what you thought was right. I’m not mad at you. I wasn’t even mad at you, then. I was mad at Heaven, at God, at a lot of things, but not even when I was walking away was I angry at _you_ for a second. So, I don’t want you to be mad at _yourself_ , okay?”

Aziraphale looked like he was going to cry, blinking rapidly. “I said such hurtful things to you. You didn’t deserve that.”

Crowley pulled Aziraphale toward him gently, like a fine China figure, resting his chin against the angel’s shoulder carefully. “You’ve more than made up for it, angel, and I’ll forgive you even though you don’t need to be forgiven. I’m not going to apologize for asking you to run away with me, even though it was _fucking stupid_ , so you shouldn’t for refusing. We both made bad, rash decisions that day, and we have a bloody fucking _planet_ full of humans to show for it.”

Aziraphale softened against him, tightening the embrace. A few moments settled, soft as snow, as London plunged gently into the speckled night, an uncharacteristic quiet settling despite the locale.

“We’ll have a big garden,” Aziraphale whispered after a time, leaning his temple against Crowley’s. The soft cloud of curls tickled Crowley’s chin. “For all your plants and then some new ones. A trellis and flowerbeds, perhaps, if you’re amenable to a spot of color. And a veranda for us to sit and enjoy it in the afternoon.”

Crowley planted a kiss on Aziraphale’s temple. “How many rooms will your library take up, do you figure?”

“Oh, just one, I imagine. Might be a little bigger on the inside than the outside, though.”

“Mmm, like the TARDIS.”

“The what?”

“Nevermind, angel.”

They walked back to the bookshop shortly thereafter, satisfied but spent. Their future buzzed with possibilities that would be explored in the assurance of daylight and over cups of steaming tea. But, that night, the angel fell asleep, for the first time, wrapped in the arms of his demon. But not for the last, by any means.

  1. In which a home is left behind



“There’s simply no way this will all fit in the Bentley,” Aziraphale bemoaned for the third time that hour.

“I told you angel, it’ll fit. Her boot’s bigger than it looks,” Crowley replied, leaning against one of the half-empty bookshelves with a smug expression. “Your idea to do all of this manually, anyway. I still think we should just miracle them there.”

“I can’t just miracle them, Crowley!” Aziraphale admonished. He was sat on the ground, reverently stacking volumes in cardboard boxes with all the care of a holy artifact. “They’re delicate! I absolutely cannot run the risk of damaging them.”

“I know, I know. You’ve only said that a couple dozen times, so I think I get the gist.”

Aziraphale responded with a huff and returned his focus to the task at hand. Crowley took the moment to look around the bookshop.

It’d been their base of operations for over two centuries now, the longest either had ever settled somewhere. More than that, it’d been a home for Aziraphale and a safe haven for Crowley. Like a beacon in the darkness, a lighthouse in the storm, all those cliché phrases. Behind these old, withered doors, it was impossible not to feel comfortable and safe, and for over 200 years, Crowley had run to this place at every opportunity. It was more a home to him than anywhere he’d inhabited in his six thousand years of residences, and that was due entirely to the fussy angel who was currently cross-legged ungracefully on the floor, caressing books and tucking them snug in miracle-strong protective plastic before they found a temporary home in the various, labelled boxes.

Crowley’s eyes roved over the place, cataloguing every moment, every memory that these walls held. Already, the shelves were more than half bare, echoing emptiness. All the secrets of a thousand days tucked behind a ‘closed’ sign that would no longer see use again.

Unexpectedly, he felt a pang in his heart, and he realized with a crash of melancholy that he was going to miss this place so badly.

He swallowed around the lump in his throat. He was being ridiculous. There was no reason to be sad; this was all he’d ever wanted. He’d asked for it, in fact. They had a house they’d already bought in the South Downs, disgustingly charming and sweet enough to rot his teeth, where he and his angel were going to live together properly. Sleepy mornings waking up with Aziraphale beside him, afternoons in a garden so big it was almost intimidating, evenings spent laughing with his beloved as the stars he hung winked at them brightly in the lack of light pollution. It was going to be perfect.

So why did it feel like he was tearing himself apart by leaving?

“Crowley, be a dear and grab me that box in the back, would you? With all the misprinted bibles in it,” Aziraphale asked suddenly, unaware of Crowley’s distress. The demon couldn’t reply and blessed himself for being pathetic, moving quickly to acquire said box. It was extremely heavy, even just half-full, so he dragged it across the hardwood by one of the flaps, plopping it with a thud beside Aziraphale.

“Thank you, love,” the angel replied, looking up to beam at him. All in an instant, recognition flickered across his face. “Crowley, what’s wrong?”

The demon’s lips curled in annoyance. “It’s nothing,” he replied, voice low.

Aziraphale didn’t bother to say anything, or even to react, poised expectantly with eyebrows raised in patient query.

Crowley let out a long, dramatic sigh. “Aren’t you gonna miss it? The shop, I mean?” he said, waving a broad hand across the shop.

Aziraphale smiled softly. “Of course, I am. It’s been my home for centuries. But…all the best parts that made London my home are coming with me. My books, my antiques, my chair, that adorable angel mug you gave me…and you.”

Crowley’s heart lurched again in a more pleasant manner. “You could still keep it though,” he pointed out for not the first time, crossing his arms. “Stay here when you visit London, or keep the shop going.”

“No, I’m quite sure I don’t want to do that,” Aziraphale assured calmly. “If I change my mind, it shouldn’t be difficult to reacquire. I’ve blessed the place, so I have no doubt it won’t be demolished or gutted. I’m rather ready to move on, anyway.”

“I know,” he said hoarsely, hating himself. “I know it’s all coming, but it just feels so wrong to leave this place behind.” He swallowed painfully. “It’s…the only place I’ve ever felt safe, even when I wasn’t, really.”

“Sit with me, dear,” Aziraphale requested gently, to which Crowley obliged, curling himself beside the angel, who took up his hands without hesitation. “I know it feels strange to leave. We’ve had so many good and important memories here, and it’s hard to imagine anywhere feeling quite this warm. But do you remember when I first got the shop? It was cold and unfamiliar, back then. When I showed it to you, even though you didn’t say anything, I could see you looking around so suspiciously.”

Crowley nodded, remembering. “It was like a maze to navigate, and I thought it looked miserable and dark before you added in more windows.”

“Exactly,” Aziraphale agreed. “And right now, our house feels like that. We agreed that we like it, but even though we’ve been a few times, the walls are just a bit too bright, and the ceiling too low on the second floor, and the paneling in the kitchen is atrocious. But when we start to fill it with memories and adjust it to our tastes, as we have here, I think we’re going to feel differently.” Aziraphale smiled, gently caressing Crowley’s cheek with the pad of his thumb. “It’ll become a home, because you’ll be there with me, and I’ll be there with you.”

Crowley felt the tightness in his chest start to loosen at Aziraphale’s words, and by the time he finished, he felt significantly more at ease. Some part of him roared to life, excited to pack quickly and start this new life together, while another part lingered nostalgically, unwilling to let go just yet. He didn’t know which voice to listen to. Aziraphale seemed to see his unvoiced struggle and suggested, “I think we should take a break from packing and go out this evening, shall we? Perhaps out to dine at that Italian place?”

The demons felt a wave of affection crash over him for his stupid, adorable, sweet angel. “Yes, let’s do that,” he said fondly before sighing.

“We’ll pick back up tomorrow, if you’re up for it,” Aziraphale replied. “Though, it would go much faster if you deemed to help me.”

“You’re the one who told me the books were off-limits, angel!” Crowley cried in faked exasperation. “Unbelievable!”

“Then why don’t you just make us some tea, love, then we’ll go?” Aziraphale replied without acknowledging this valid point, a subtle upturn at the corner of his lips revealing exactly what he was enough of to be worth knowing, in a certain demon’s opinion.

“Yeah, yeah, what else am I good for but your errand boy?” Crowley complained, already standing to fill the electric kettle (which hadn’t been packed yet for this exact reason).

“Oh, hush, you.”

It was three days later before everything was properly boxed and miraculously tucked into the boot of the Bentley, though the plants occupied the backseat and didn’t dare to let a speck of soil dirty the vehicle’s interior (and other, larger or less fragile items were miracled directly to their destination). Aziraphale and Crowley felt a similar wave of nostalgia and sorrow as they closed the doors for the last time. It wasn’t hard to conjure a million snapshots of memories held in this building, which now resonated hollowness without anything or anyone within.

They made eye contact and linked hands, simultaneously smiling as a sense of peace and closure enveloped them. Even as they drove away from the bookshop, out of Soho, and beyond London, they both found that they were already home, anyway.

  1. In which we take a break and discuss falling in love



The Bentley pulled up outside the cottage, slowing to a stop before the front gate that led to the door. Aziraphale, who’d been babbling the entire car ride, quieted as they gazed at their house, cast in the shadows of midnight’s half-moon.

“A year,” the angel murmured in astonishment. “Hardly a blink of the eye, with how long we’ve lived on this planet, but…”

“Yeah,” Crowley agreed, filled with the same sort of reverence. A year to the day, exactly, they’d saved the world (or, more accurately, it had been saved in general) and broke ties with their respective Head Offices. Exactly a year ago, they’d created their Own Side. In a year, they’d gone from hereditary enemies to eternally dedicated best friends. Inside the house before them, they’d find a sleek sofa with tartan throw pillows on it, and a cupboard with too many sets of angel wing mugs, and a room full of books twice as large as the entire property, and a surround-sound speaker system that could be found playing Beethoven as often as Mercury.

In a little shed in the back, Crowley’s gardening tools were carefully hung on nails. The flowerbeds surrounding the house were in full bloom regardless of the time of year, Lily of the Valley saddled beside pink and yellow alstroemerias, deep red carnations, purplish hyacinth, and creamy Queen Anne’s Lace, while a smattering of colorful but well-organized tulips erupted along the sides. Planted by the back veranda, just beside a table with two chairs, was the dreaded rose bush Aziraphale had insisted on, though Crowley still felt it was far too cliché.

A year. Absolutely nothing, in the span of the universe. And yet, it was everything they had never even dared to hope for, dream of. And it was all theirs.

Crowley broke out of their reverie first, grunting as he got out of the car and made his way around to open the door for his beloved angel. Aziraphale accepted the extended hand, lifting it to plant a feathery kiss on the back, before they walked to the gate with fingers intertwined.

“I’m amazed by how unchanged the city was,” Aziraphale commented as they shrugged their coats off in the foyer, Crowley striding ahead to put the kettle on. “I suppose I oughtn’t to be, but even the staff at the Ritz was the same as when we were there last year. Our server was so sweet to have recognized us from our last visit before the move.”

“I can’t believe,” Crowley commented as Aziraphale joined him in the kitchen and leaned against the counter to watch the former prepare their tea, “they still haven’t noticed that the carpet changes color every time we go.”

Aziraphale chuckled. “I still fail to see what’s particularly demonic about that one, dearest.”

“Didn’t say it was demonic, angel,” Crowley crooned. “It’s _mischievous_. Don’t need to be demonic.” He smiled at the reminder of their separation from prior occupations before turning to face Aziraphale with two mugs of tea in tow. “Sofa?”

“Bed, I think.” Aziraphale gratefully took his mug from Crowley’s outstretched hand and they made their way to the shared bedroom, where Crowley liked to sleep and Aziraphale liked to watch him sleep while pretending to read (and, occasionally, actually reading). It suited them.

Moments later, each in a set of cotton pajamas (“Silk isn’t even slightly comfortable, dear, and you know it. Just try the cotton.”), they were settled on the bed with Aziraphale against the headboard and a lap full of curled-up demon. The angel absentmindedly stroked a hand through the demon’s flaming hair in the dim light, and a hum of contentedness buzzed in the room.

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” Aziraphale admitted, apropos of nothing. “Well, maybe not anything quite so specific. But being with you, loving you without having to fear retribution on either account.”

Crowley nodded against Aziraphale’s chest, twisting to he could look up at the angel’s soft face, the beloved double chin. “…How long?” he asked.

“What?”

“How long have you wanted this?”

The angel hesitated, not as though he was considering it, but building up to say it. “Do you remember…after we met in Eden, and we kept seeing each other, watching Eve and Adam and her children over the following decades? It seemed like a good excuse to keep talking to you, since we were in the same area.”

Crowley suddenly sat up, eyes wide. “Wait, you were seeking me out on _purpose_?”

Aziraphale smiled, a vague air of embarrassment about him. “Well, yes. I mean, angels are taught to be attune to a demon’s aura, after all. So, I typically knew where you were and thought, ‘well, perhaps it wouldn’t be suspicious if we _happened_ to run into each other sometimes, then, right?’ I can’t say I exactly knew, then. The love came…later. But there was something there from the beginning. The very Beginning.”

Crowley felt a warmth expand in his chest and he leaned into his hands, propped up by his elbows. “I always did wonder why you kept approaching me, if not to smite me. Big empty planet to roam, and no matter where I was, you just sort of appeared.” A teasing grin spread on his face as he tossed the back of his hand against his forehead dramatically. “Woe, chasing after me like a lovesick suitor, I your flighty maiden you couldn’t seem to catch…”

Aziraphale properly blushed, swatting at Crowley’s arm with an adorable huff of indignation. “Well…I caught him eventually.”

Crowley let himself flop backward over Aziraphale legs, idly toying with a loose thread on the hem of Aziraphale’s nightshirt with a laugh. “And you’re very, very stuck with him. Better not regret it.”

“I don’t think that’s possible,” Aziraphale said simply. “And what about you, Crowley?”

“Hmm?”

“How long have you, well, loved me?”

Crowley buried his face deep into Aziraphale’s plush, tartan nightclothes.

“Dearest?”

Crowley withdrew just enough to mutter, “Did you know demons are taught to hide their auras?”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Since angels can sense ‘em, we learn to hide ‘em.”

“Ah, that does make sense, then.”

“Yeah.”

Aziraphale paused, clearly waiting for Crowley to continue. When he didn’t, he prodded, “And?”

“ _And_ ,” Crowley drawled uncomfortably, “you were always able to follow my aura back then.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale breathed out gently with understanding. “You _wanted_ me to find you. Even then. Even though I could have been dangerous, for all you knew.”

Crowley grunted in affirmative.

“Love at first sight on both accounts, I suppose. Or friendship, or something like it. A connection.” He sighed. “Crowley, we are completely absurd.”

Crowley snorted. “Who do you think coined the phrase, angel? I told Hell it was a concept I’d use to ‘confuse the youths into making rash decisions by muddling it with infatuation.’ Now I’m accidentally responsible for the entirety of Hallmark television!”

Aziraphale laughed. “You ridiculous snake. How did all of your demonic wiles seem to backfire, specifically for you, so spectacularly?”

“Dunno what you’re talking about,” Crowley said, most definitely not pouting even though that’s exactly what he was doing. “Weather forecasts aren’t _that_ bad, are they?”

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow. “We were rained out of two picnics just last month that the forecast failed to predict.”

Crowley conceded that with an evasive grunt. They lapsed into comfortable silence, broken only by their sips of tea. Aziraphale was just reaching for the book (one of seven) on his nightstand when Crowley sat up completely, sitting cross-legged as he faced the angel. Aziraphale watched him patiently as the demon struggled to find his words.

“Aziraphale,” he said after a minute, “are you happy?”

There was something unspoken there, and by the angel’s face, he knew it, too.

_With me?_

There was no hesitation, no regret on Aziraphale’s expression, the soft folds of his face eased into an appearance that spoke of naught but complete and utter joy. “Yes, I am,” he replied simply, and he accepted Crowley’s following, intense kiss like it was all he had ever wanted.

  1. (bonus) In which we wonder about eternity



Their cottage in the South Downs was one of many. Not necessarily one of many cottages, though there were more of those. But as one year became two, one century became two, one millennium became ten, and the Earth spun itself out, an angel and a demon could always be found together. They explored the planet, living in every conceivable type of home and type of place. And by the time they finished, the humans in their ingenuity had changed so much that they could start anew.

But the Earth was not their limit, and, eventually, Crowley took Aziraphale out to show him all the stars he had made up close, and they explored all the worlds of galaxies.

Obviously, the first was Alpha Centauri.

Eternity was immeasurable; there was no particular end to it, as was quite the entire point. It stretched and stretches and is stretching on like a rope that, no matter how fast or slow you pull, slithers on at the same unbroken pace. There is no running out of time when Time is everywhere and neverendingly abundant.

Who can say, in any Earthly, human language, what was to come, beyond our understanding of universal limitations? What is there beyond that which we know and that which we measure and document and yearn to understand? There aren’t words that can presume to know what came After eternity, what came Before, what it was During.

Rest assured that, as boundless as Time is, so, too, is Love.

**Author's Note:**

> I’m sorry if this got super out of character sometimes, I’m majorly projecting over here and I’m also a sap. I sincerely hope you enjoyed this; it was extremely fun to write! Please let me know your thoughts, dears!


End file.
